Page 40 of The Killing Plains

“I need full transparency, or I’m going back to Houston. I mean it.”

He sighed. “Lowell didn’t want me bringing you in on this Denny Knox thing. We had a little dustup over it last week.”

“Dustup?”

“He took a swing at me, clocked me pretty good on the jaw. Still a little sore.”

“You’re kidding.”

“It was late, and he’d had a few, of course.”

“Why doesn’t he want me investigating?”

“Afraid it’ll be bad for business. The company’s gone through a rough patch recently.”

“Why?”

She heard him swallow. “Long story. Let’s talk later.”

Colly hesitated. The topic had apparently struck a nerve, which surprised her. Russ, like Randy, had always left business worries to Lowell. But now his anxiety was almost palpable.

“Russ, what’s going on?”

“Not now, Col. Seriously. Let’s go, before Momma sends another search party.” He started towards the house, and after a moment, Colly followed.

They emerged from the thicket onto the well-lit patio in time to see Lowell push past his mother and Talford and disappear into the house.

Iris seemed unfazed by her youngest son’s rudeness. “There you are.” She smiled benignly at Russ and Colly. “Hope you’re hungry. The children have worked up quite an appetite.”

“A little early in the year for swimming, isn’t it?” Colly glanced at the water toys scattered on the flagstones.

“It’s a heated pool. The kids stank of horse, so we let them take a dip. Brenda didn’t think you’d mind. It’s nice for Satchel to have his cousins to play with. I worry about how isolated he is in Houston.”

“He has friends,” Colly said defensively.

Before Iris could respond, Russ edged between them. “Did I hear something about roast beef? I’m starved.”

Arm in arm, Iris and Talford led the way through the French doors into the house. As they entered the living room, Colly was struck by a sense of simultaneous familiarity and strangeness. When Randy had first brought her to meet his family, Colly’s impression of Mollison was one of unpretentious, slightly shabby comfort. Then, it was a working ranch house, with piles of boots by the door and the faint odors of diesel, woodsmoke, and sweat permeating the air. A house that had seen four boys grow to adulthood.

Now, she felt as if she’d entered a movie set—some designer’s idea of what a ranch house should look like. Brass-studded furniture of walnut and dark leather encircled a cowhide rug, and a row of Navajo saddle blankets hung on the wall, their vivid geometric patterns glowing against the honey-oak paneling.

As Colly scrutinized the room, Iris released Talford’s arm and moved closer. “I’ve redone things since you were here last—ditched those antler chandeliers Bryant loved, and that smelly old rug of his grandmother’s. What do you think?”

“Designed it herself,” Talford put in. “A woman of hidden talents.” He winked at Iris.

Colly hesitated. “It looks very. . .”

“Chic?” Iris prompted.

Proprietarywas the word that had come to mind.This place is yours now, and you’re marking your territory.

Though, after all, Colly thought,why not?Bryant Newland had been a domestic tyrant. Iris had a right to a fresh start, and she’d needed a distraction in the wake of so much tragedy. As coping mechanisms went, redecorating the house was harmless.

Colly smiled. “It’s lovely.” Her gaze was drawn to the fieldstone fireplace. “Oh, wow.”

In place of Bryant’s prized trophy—a buffalo-head mount that had brooded above the mantel for decades—an enormous oil painting now hung. It was a portrait of Iris done in a bold, Fauvist style and depicting her standing regally beneath a windswept sky, the dormered silhouette of the Mollison roofline behind her.

Iris followed Colly’s gaze. “Ah, you’ve spotted my treasure. A gift from Talford, for my seventieth.”

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